


Oh, so this is a date.

by Squid Squad (TerminalMiraculosis)



Series: Operation 24 [2]
Category: Splatoon
Genre: Especially in the Second Chapter, F/F, First Dates, relationship building, still pretty much a fluff/comedy but there's a little bit of angst creeping in at the edges
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-15
Updated: 2019-02-21
Packaged: 2019-10-28 15:19:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17789840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TerminalMiraculosis/pseuds/Squid%20Squad
Summary: Agent 3 and Agent 8 are finally going on their first date! They're nervous, but excited to see what will come of their relationship.But perhaps not as excited as some of the people around them.By Three's estimate, there's like a sixty percent chance this date will end in disaster, and a twenty percent chance it will end with a felony charge.





	1. A Lunch to Forget

Three tapped her fingers against the steering wheel impatiently, looking out the window at Pearl and Marina’s house. What was taking her so long? Was she having second thoughts? No, stop that, it’s fine. She’s probably just… doing something. Yeah.

God. Three hated being alone with her thoughts.

After a couple more minutes of steering-wheel-tapping, Three saw the front door open out of the corner of her eye, and her head snapped around to look. Eight was stepping out of the door frame when she caught Three’s gaze. Immediately, her face lit up in a smile, and she began jogging towards Three’s car. She was just. So darn cute. It wasn’t fair.

“Hi Three!” Eight exclaimed, flinging open the passenger door.

Three looked her up and down as she climbed into the car. “Wow, Eight, you look… really nice.”

It was true. She was wearing what Three presumed was one of Marina’s leather jackets over a simple but elegant crop top, a loose black knee-length skirt, and some expensive-looking tennis shoes that Pearl had probably bought her.

“Thanks!” Eight smiled. “So do you!”

Three looked down at her hoodie, t-shirt, and shorts, none of which had been washed in like a week. “…Thanks.” 

“So what are we doing?”

“Man, I dunno,” Three said, shifting into drive and taking off down the road. “I don’t normally, like. Do stuff with people? So I’m just gonna wing it I guess.”

Eight cocked her head. “So… where are you driving to, then?”

Three hummed. She should probably decide on that soon, yeah. “Um. The square, I guess? Are you hungry now, or do you want to get lunch later?”

“Oh, I don’t really have a preference,” Eight said, visibly salivating.

Three narrowed her eyes. “You’re drooling.”

She blushed. “This always happens when someone mentions Inkling food around me, don’t worry about it.”

“Jeez, what were the Octarians feeding you?”

“Nutrition blocks.”

“Excuse me?” Three shot Eight a look. “What the fuck is a nutrition block?”

“It’s… how would you understand…” Eight paused, tapping a finger against her chin. “You know those granola bars you have up here?”

“Yes, I hate them,” Three said.

“Right, so imagine a granola bar but without any flavor and more… sawdusty? They’re really dry, taste bland, but you only need to eat like three a day in order to survive, so they’re very efficient.”

Three felt her face contort. That was the most appalling thing she’d ever heard. “What—what the fuck. I have so many problems with that. Weren’t you hungry all the time? How did you fight on an empty stomach like that?”

“Well, they said it was motivation. If we didn’t do well, we weren’t able to eat, so—”

“What the _FUCK,”_ Three practically screamed, gripping the steering wheel so hard she thought she might dent it. “Okay, that’s it, I’m gonna take you to the best goddamn restaurant I know right this instant.”

Eight waved her hands in front of her. “No no no, it’s okay! I don’t want you spending your money on some fancy restaurant just because—”

“Oh, yeah, no, you’re paying for yourself, your moms are rich.”

“They’re not my moms.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

Eight huffed and crossed her arms, and Three couldn’t help but giggle at her a little.

Instantly, Eight’s head whipped around. “Did you just giggle?”

Three immediately reset to her resting bitch face. “No.”

“Oh my god you totally did!”

“Shut up.”

“You have a really cute giggle,” Eight said, smiling warmly.

Three felt her face warm. “Shut up. No I don’t.”

“Yeah ya do,” Eight said, laying her head on Three’s shoulder. Her tentacles brushed against Three’s cheek, cool and smooth.

“Y-yeah? Well, you have a cute… face,” Three said, and then immediately wanted to die.

“Aw, thanks, Three! You have a cute face too.”

Three swerved a hard right and pulled into a parking lot. “Oh, look, we’re here. Guess this conversation’s gonna have to stop. Shame.” She parked as quickly as possible, and got out of the car so fast she nearly ripped her seat belt in half. She pulled her hoodie up to her burning face and looked away from Eight, who was still cracking up inside the car.

She had _no right_ to be this cute. There was like a fifty percent chance this date was gonna kill her.

* * *

A pair of binoculars peeked out over the roof of a nearby van. “There they are.”

Another voice perked up, suddenly interested. “Where are they going?”

“Uh, looks like they’re heading into Shellfish Indulgence.”

A laugh rang softly, slightly unhinged. “Perfect! Right where we want them. Let’s move out.”

The binoculars came down. “No, let’s give it a minute. No need to be suspicious.”

* * *

Eight’s eyes greedily scanned her menu, the smooth music that played throughout the restaurant sinking into her skull. “I have no idea what any of this means but it all sounds so good.”

“It is,” Three assured, across from her. “I mean, I don’t exactly eat out often, but I’ve been here a few times, and it’s the best food I’ve ever had. Well, aside from Crusty Sean’s stuff, but he only serves two different kinds of foods for whatever fucked-up reason, so that gets pretty repetitive.”

“How do you even decide what to get?” Eight asked. There were so many options! And they were all so complicated! Honestly, a lot of Inkling culture seemed to follow those themes.

“Just pick something that sounds good,” Three said, which wasn’t helpful in the least.

“Hmm.” She read through the lunch menu for the sixth time: specialty three-cheese pizza, five-star lasagna platter, sauteed fish fillets—wait. “You eat fish? But don’t they—”

“Not the ones who like walk and stuff,” Three said quickly. “We eat the small dumb ones that are still aquatic.”

Eight frowned. “That’s still a bit… weird, though, right?”

“Eh.” Three shrugged. “Not really. I mean, ancient squids and octopi were actually carnivorous, and they almost exclusively ate other sea life. We stayed that way for centuries before evolution and global climate change prompted some evolutionary…”

Eight’s attention was caught by two strangely-dressed figures entering the restaurant. (Not that Three’s monologue wasn’t interesting! It was just that it was, uh… Actually, no, yeah, that was it.) They were wearing long, nondescript trench coats, hats, and sunglasses. Eight narrowed her eyes. This was weird. Was this normal for Inkling fashion? Honestly, it was very possible, they had some really strange practices when it came to clothing. Marina had tried to give her a whole lesson on it, but Eight hadn’t been able to follow. She should probably just ask Three.

“…But of course once we started transitioning to omnivorism, our diets changed significantly, so—and this part is just a theory, but still—it’s believed that it was actually the salmonids who first started…”

Well that wasn’t happening any time soon. For someone who ‘hates nerds’ Three seemed to know an awful lot about obscure academic subjects. Eight looked back up at the suspicious figures, but they were gone. She frowned.

“…and since we can’t really touch water, we actually buy most of our commercial fish from other species, many of which are fish themselves.” Three paused. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s—it’s nothing. Why do you know so much about the historical dietary habits of cephalopods?” 

Three shrugged. “Oh, you know. You just kind of pick stuff up over the years.”

Well that was a vague answer. “So what are you ordering?”

Three looked down at her menu. “I dunno. Maybe the fucking, uh. Pizza? I’ve never gotten their pizza before. I don’t think I’ve ever had pizza at like a sit down restaurant at all, actually. I wonder what it’s like.”

“We’ll both be experiencing something new, then,” Eight said.

Three smiled, barely. “Yeah. Guess so.”

Just then, the waiter arrived. He was an Inkling, maybe a few years older than Three, and he was carrying a vase of flowers, which he set down between the two of them. “Flowers for the young couple, as requested. May I take your orders?”

“What the hell?” Three muttered, leaning forward to look at the flowers. “We didn’t request anything. And how did you know we’re together?”

The waiter just shrugged. Three narrowed her eyes.

Eight, meanwhile, was staring in awe at the flowers. “Oh my god, Three, look how pretty they are! We didn’t have any plants like these back in the Domes. And they smell so good!”

“Huh? I mean, yeah, I guess they do.” Three briefly made eye contact with Eight, then shifted her gaze back to the flowers. “There’s, uh. There are people whose whole job is to arrange flowers. I think it’s like an art to them.”

“Look!” Eight plucked an orange flower from the bouquet. “This one’s a perfect match for your natural ink color!” She leaned across the table, holding it up against Three’s tentacles.

“Uh, yeah, I think that one’s a daisy,” Three mumbled.

Giggling to herself, Eight leaned in just a bit further, her stomach pressing into the table edge, and tucked the stem of the flower behind Three’s ear. Three just looked at her, a variety of conflicting emotions flashing across her steadily reddening face, before clearing her throat and turning to the waiter, who was watching them impassively. “I’ll, uh, have the pizza,” she said.

The waiter nodded, then turned to Eight. “And for you, miss?”

“Oh! Um, I’ll try the tuna, I think?”

The waiter uttered a small affirmation, then took their menus and left.

“I thought you said the fish freaked you out,” Three said after he’d vanished into the back of the restaurant.

“Well, it’s good to broaden your horizons, right?”

“Fair enough,” Three said. They sat there in silence for a little while, Eight admiring the strange paintings around the restaurant, and Three absentmindedly fidgeting with the flower behind her ear as she looked around.

“I like the flower,” Eight said, after a minute. “It’s cute.”

“Nah, it’s metal as fuck,” Three proclaimed, crossing her arms. “I rock this look. My enemies will see me and go, ‘man, there’s a bitch you don’t wanna mess with.’ ”

“You’re right, I’m sorry. It’s very intimidating and not cute at all.”

“There you go. That’s better.”

Eight laughed, then stopped. There were those trench coat people again, walking over from the hall to the bathrooms and sitting down in a booth on the other side of the restaurant. 

“What are you looking at?” Three turned to look over her shoulder, immediately spotting the two figures. “Oh. Yeah, that’s, uh. That’s unsettling.”

“I take it that’s not just some weird Inkling fashion trend?” Eight asked.

“Well, I mean, who the fuck knows, really,” Three said. “But I don’t think so. Four’s really into all of that stuff—because she’s a pretentious little shit, you know?—and she definitely lacks the self respect required to know not to wear that in public, but I haven’t seen her in any trench coats lately. Bottom line is that those guys are suspicious as hell.”

“They’re not even eating,” Eight noted. “They’re just… wandering around every so often.”

“Where were they wandering around to?”

“Down towards the bathrooms.”

“Isn’t there a back entrance to the staff room there?”

Eight shrugged. She’d barely been in this restaurant half an hour by now.

“Hmm. Well.” Three turned back around. “I’m not too worried. It’s not like anything weird’s been really happening. I mean, except for—”

She was interrupted by the waiter returning, handing them their dishes. Eight looked down at the grilled tuna; holy cow, that smelled _really good._

“And some romantic candles to enhance the mood,” the waiter said, placing down some miniature candles on either side of the table.

Eight and Three exchanged a look. Three turned to the waiter. “Um. Why?”

“To enhance the mood. I thought I already said that.”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Enjoy your food! Tell me if you need anything!”

Before either of them could get another word in, the waiter spun on his heel and hurried back to the kitchen, only stopping to give the trench-coat-people a quick glance. From where they were seated, it was hard to tell if it was a conspiratorial glance, or just a confused one.

Eight raised an eyebrow. “So that was… what was that?”

Three looked tired. “I’ve got a theory. But for now, I say we just try to enjoy our food while we can.”

Hmm. That was weirdly ominous. But, who cares, because FOOD! Eight carefully took her first bite, and then immediately followed it up with her second, and third, and fourth, and she was quickly losing count. This was so good. Oh my god. How had she never had fish before? Why was it so heavenly? Was it because it was like the natural diet for octopi, or whatever Three had been going on about?

She only paused once she heard a sharp laughter coming from the other side of the table. She looked up at Three, who had only eaten like a single slice of pizza. What a slow eater.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, it’s just…” Three made that cute giggle again. “You are hands down the messiest eater I’ve ever seen.”

Eight blushed, looking down at herself. Oh. Yeah. She saw what Three was getting at. She was getting sauce all over—“Marina’s jacket!” Eight yelped, reaching over and yanking a fistful of napkins from the napkin dispenser. 

“Oh no oh no oh no!” Eight whined, wiping furiously at herself.

Three managed to stifle her laughter long enough to ask, “Do you need help, or…?”

“No, I think I’ve got it. But thanks.” She examined the jacket closely: the spot wasn’t very noticeable anymore, thank god. She let out a sigh of relief. “That was almost really bad.”

Three rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on. Marina’s not gonna get mad at you for getting one of her four hundred leather jackets a bit dirty. Actually, I’m pretty sure Marina is physically incapable at getting mad at you for, like, anything.”

“I guess you’re right,” Eight admitted. “But it’d be really embarrassing. I mean, I asked her for help cause I wanted to look nice, and she was so kind to give me her jacket and all.”

“Hey, Eight,” Three interjected. “You know you don’t have to, like, dress up for me, or anything, right?”

“But isn’t that what you’re supposed to do on dates? Pearl said that’s like a big part of it.”

“Maybe for some people,” Three said with a wave of her hand. “I don’t really give a shit. I mean, I think you look great, but if you’d shown up in your pajamas I would’ve also thought you look great. Just wear whatever makes you happy, you know?”

Eight smiled. “That’s… I think I like that better than what Pearl was talking about. She was going on about brands, and how certain clothes accentuate certain features, and something about exactly how much skin you want to reveal when, and none of it made a whole lot of sense.”

“Yeah all of that’s bullshit. Just do whatever the fuck you want and own it.”

“Also, question, what are pajamas?”

“The…” Three gave her a look. “The clothes you go to sleep in.”

Eight put a finger to her chin. “Interesting. When Pearl and Marina are getting ready to go to bed, they’re usually just wearing—”

“Imma stop you right there,” Three said, putting up a hand. “Don’t need to think about that.” 

Eight wrinkled her brow. “I don’t—”

“MMM!” Three said, taking another bite of her pizza. “Good food here, huh, Eight?”

Eight decided to just drop it, and the two of them ate in relative silence for the next few minutes.

That is, until the music started.

“Is it me, or did they just pump up the music?” Three asked.

Eight paused her eating and focused. Sure enough, the song had changed from the smooth-listening it had been all of lunch. It was still slow, but it was less jazzy, with fuller strings and simpler percussion. It reminded her of those bad romance movies Pearl and Marina liked to watch after they drank that disgusting poison they referred to as ‘alcohol.’ 

_“Oh ho, resident lunch-goes!”_ came a voice over some speakers hidden in the ceiling. _“Hear that? Love is in the air!”_

“Why the hell does a restaurant have a speaker system like this?” Three asked. Eight didn’t know how to answer, so she just kept dumbly looking up at where the voice was coming from.

_“It’s that time again—Love Lunch Thursday! Which happy couple will be put on the spot to show their love today? Who knows! How exciting!”_

“Do you know what’s going on?” Eight asked.

“No fucking clue,” Three answered, looking more concerned by the second. “I’ve never heard of ‘Love Lunch Thursday’ in my life.”

Just as she finished her sentence, all the lights in the restaurant went out, causing a lot of confused yelps from the patrons. And then, just as suddenly, a bright spotlight shone down right at their table.

Eight’s eyes went wide, and she tensed, pressing her back up against the wall. The lights bore into her eyes, oppressive and unyielding, and there was blackness everywhere else. It almost felt like she was back underground. She didn’t like it. She hated it. “Three? What’s happening?”

“Why the hell does a restaurant have spotlights?” Three seethed, her eyes darting around frantically. Her hands gripped the table and the back of the booth, ready to burst in any direction at the first sign of trouble.

_“Wow! And you’re our lucky couple for the night! How romantic! Now, show us all how much you care for each other!”_

Eight’s breaths were coming fast and shallow. “Three? What do we do?”

“Don’t worry, I got this.” She stood up, and Eight’s breathing paused.

What was she going to do? Was she really going to ‘show how much she cared’ for Eight? Was she going to _kiss_ her or something?! She couldn’t handle that, not in front of this many people!

She watched, restless, as Three inhaled deeply and threw back her head. There was a moment of chilling stillness, with only the music playing in the background; and then Three screamed.

_“GGGRRRRAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH!”_

It wasn’t just your run-of-the-mill average scream, either. It was dissonant, and grated on your bones. It shook you to your core, and it made you want to cover your ears, but it was also somehow beautiful—nobody could produce a scream this gut-wrenching, this disconcerting, this barbaric, without it being intentionally constructed as such. And that, in its own, twisted way, made it something of an art, one from which you would be rude to shy away.

It was still awful to hear though. Soon enough, the music cut out and the lights came back on. Three was still screaming, though. She had an impressive lung capacity.

_“Um. Ma’am? Please stop, Ma’am.”_

_“HRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAGHHHHHHHH!”_

_“Please stop screaming. We’re going to have to ask you to leave if you don’t stop.”_

_“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAaaaaaaa_ aaaaaaah…” Eventually, Three trailed off and sat back down, calmly returning to her pizza. 

Once the rest of the restaurant stopped staring (it took a couple minutes), Eight asked, very quietly: “Can we… go?”

Three immediately nodded. “Yeah. I was gonna wait until there was less attention on us, but I don’t think anyone’s gonna say anything. Let’s ditch this place.”

Three got up from the table and started walking to the door, Eight right behind her, but they were stopped by their waiter, who looked supremely uncomfortable. “Um… Are you, uh…”

Three fished a ten dollar bill out of her pocket. “Here’s a tip. I know you were just following directions, but it was still a dick move. We’re not paying for the food. If your manager has a problem with that tell him that I challenge him to settle the dispute through a turf war, and that yes that is something you can still legally do in Inkopolis. Also tell him not to fuck with me if he wants to keep his dignity and/or all of his limbs.” She then turned to the two trench-coated-figures, who were attempting to sneak out unnoticed. “You two. Outside. Now.”

Thirty seconds later, Callie and Marie were profusely apologizing to the both of them. 

“Jeez, oh my god, we are so sorry!” Callie said, the words tumbling messily from her mouth. “It—it just started with the flowers, but then Eight put that daisy in your hair and oh my god it was so adorable! I may have gotten a bit carried away, I’m really sorry!”

“And that whole love lunch crap was just a joke, we didn’t think they’d actually go through with it,” Marie said. “I mean, what, do people really just do everything pop stars tell them to do?”

“Yes,” Three said. “And none of that is a good excuse!”

Marie sighed. “I know. We fucked up. We’re really sorry.”

“We just wanted to make your date super special!” Callie exclaimed.

“Don’t lie to me,” Three said, the anger evident on her face. “You wanted to tease me. And that’s cool, whatever, we have that kind of relationship. I don’t care. But you almost gave Eight a fucking panic attack. That isn’t fucking okay.”

Callie looked supremely guilty. “No. You’re right.” She turned to Eight. “We’re sorry we ruined your date, Eight.”

“Yeah,” Marie said. “Seriously not cool of us. If there’s anything you want us to do to make up for it, then just say the word.” 

Eight swallowed. “It’s alright. I forgive you.”

The Squid Sisters smiled, relieved; but Eight wasn’t done.

“I just have one more thing I’d like to say.”

“Of course!” Callie said. “Go for it.”

Eight took a deep breath, then called out at the top of her lungs. “OH MY GOD! CALLIE AND MARIE FROM THE SQUID SISTERS?!”

Every head in the square turned their way, and the Squid Sisters’ faces blanched with fear.

“I DIDN’T KNOW YOU WERE SIGNING AUTOGRAPHS RIGHT NOW!”

Marie slumped to her knees, her face frozen with existential dread. “Well played, Eight. Well played.”

“This is where I die,” Callie mumbled, holding her head in her hands, a crazed look on her face. “And I only have myself to blame.”

Next to her, Three was dying with laughter. “AHHAHAAHHAHAHAH! EIGHT! Oh my god, I could kiss you! That was great!”

Eight blushed. “Um, I could kiss you too, if you want. Just saying.”

“Let’s get back to the car first,” Three said. “This place is about to become a warzone.”


	2. Homes and Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight visits Three's apartment. Things go downhill from there.

Three slammed the car door, and then slammed her lips onto Eight’s. She quickly returned the gesture, and they stayed like that for a few seconds before pulling away. Three was still laughing. “Man, that was genius! You can be evil when you want to be.”

Eight giggled. “Well. I was pretty angry.” 

Three sobered up quickly. “Yeah. Sorry about them. They get really carried away sometimes. You know; superfamous pop stars, loose grip on reality… that sort of thing.”

“It’s… it’s okay,” Eight assured. “I just need some time to cool down. Recollect myself.”

Three tried not to frown. “Do you… want me to take you back to Pearl and Marina’s house?” She kind of hoped not. But Eight’s wants were more important right now.

Eight smiled. “You mean my moms’ house?”

Three laughed. “Yeah, that.”

“…No,” Eight said. “I was having a lot of fun with you until, um. That happened. I want to stay with you. But maybe we could do something… not public? I don’t think I want crowds of people right now.”

Three nodded. That made sense. What could they do, then… well, there was always her apartment. Nobody knew the address, because she never let anybody know the address, because she didn’t want anybody there. So it would definitely be a safe place to go. But, on the other hand, she didn’t want anybody there for a reason. She was a very private person. She’d hate for people to suddenly know super personal things about her, like her place of residence, or her name. It would definitely be a risk.

Three looked over at Eight, sitting in the passenger’s seat, hugging her knees to her chest, staring at the glove compartment. “We could go chill at my apartment if you want,” she said.

Eight perked up. “Really? You’re comfortable with that?”

“Yeah,” she said, and it didn’t feel like a lie. “Nobody knows where I live, so. Guaranteed privacy.”

“That’d be nice, I think.”

“Alrighty then. Next stop, Three’s shitty apartment.”

* * *

“So here’s my shitty apartment,” Three said, stepping into her shitty apartment. She looked at the embarrassing amounts of clothes and junk lying on the floor. “Sorry about the mess. I wasn’t expecting guests.”

“It’s fine,” Eight said, immediately flopping down onto Three’s barely-still-hanging-together sofa. She looked around, taking in her surroundings, and Three took the opportunity to surreptitiously nudge a stray bra under an armchair with her foot. “I thought you said you hated the Squid Sisters’ music,” Eight commented.

“I do,” Three responded reflexively, and then, suddenly, she gasped. How could she have forgotten.

How could she have forgotten all her Squid Sister merch.

In a frightening blur of motion, Three rushed through the room, scooping up her Squid Sisters pajama shirt, snatching a few CDs off of a nearby table, and then rushing over to the signed poster she had on her wall. She jumped, trying to rip it down, but she was too short. Dammit! Let’s see, if she vaulted off of her radiator, she could probably grab the bottom on her way down, and—shit, Eight was staring at her. 

With a defeated sigh, she let the contents of her hands fall back to the ground. “Fine! You got me. I’ve been a huge fan of the Squid Sisters for years. If you tell anyone I’m not speaking to you ever again.”

Eight looked both amused and confused. “I don’t—Three, why does it matter? Pearl and Marina are really big fans of them too, and they’re not embarrassed about it.”

“Because they’re so damn _smug,_ okay?” Three rolled her eyes. “Can you imagine what would happen if they found out I hoard their merchandise? I’d never hear the end of it.”

“But… you have a signed poster. How do they not know?”

“I got that at one of their concerts when I was thirteen,” Three mumbled. “Three years before I became an agent. They don’t remember faces very well. Look, their music’s just really good, okay? And _maybe_ stupid teenage going-through-puberty me had other motivations to like them as well, but that was a long time ago! The only thing I even halfway enjoy about anything associated with them is their music.”

Three couldn’t help but avert her eyes, feeling her cheeks warm. God. This is why she didn’t invite people over to her house. It was private! She was an idiot. Eight probably thought she actually _liked_ Callie and Marie now. Which, granted, was the truth, but still! What was she supposed to do now? Still keep doing the whole ‘hate the Squid Sisters’ thing? God!

Three crossed her arms and threw herself down onto the couch next to the giggling Eight. “Just… don’t tell them, okay?”

“I won’t,” Eight said, leaning her head onto Three’s shoulder. “Your face matches your flower too, now, you know.”

“Shut up,” Three said. But she let her head fall to rest on Eight’s anyway. And, well, since she was already blushing… Three let her hand slide towards Eight’s, tangling their fingers together. Eight perked up, a bit surprised, but smiled, snuggling closer to Three. She was warm.

“You wanna… do anything?” Three asked.

“Nope.”

Three smiled and closed her eyes. “Yeah. Me neither.”

* * *

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Eight stirred, eyes fluttering open. Where was she? Had she fallen asleep? Her bed felt weird.

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

As she blinked the sleep out of her eyes, it began coming back to her. That’s right—she was at Three’s. She tried to sit up, but something was stopping her. Frustrated, she twisted her head, and—

“Ah! Three!”

The girl was practically wrapped around Eight’s body, her head buried against Eight’s chest. She was breathing softly, and Eight was struggling to balance her desire to get up with her desire to let Three sleep, because she was just so adorable like that. But also Three was trapping her legs and had her arms wrapped around her torso, and Three was incredibly strong, so it was very hard to move.

_Bzzzt. Bzzzt. Bzzzt._

Oh! Her phone! That must’ve been what woke her up. With some impressive shows of coordination, she managed to grab her phone in one hand and answer.

“Hi! This is Eight!”

_“Eight, it’s Marina,”_ said Marina’s voice over the phone. _“I’m just checking in because you said you’d be back by now?”_

Eight checked the cheap digital clock resting on a nearby table. Oh, no! “I-I’m sorry, I kind of fell asleep. Everything’s fine, I’m still with Three.”

_“You… fell asleep?”_

“Yeah. I’ll head back right now!”

_“Alright sweetie, I’ll see you soon. Hope you had fun falling asleep!”_

The line beeped dead, and Eight slipped her phone back into her jacket pocket. Alright. Now to wake Three up.

Eight placed a hand on the top of Three’s head and shook it a little. “Hey, Three, wake up.” 

Three mumbled something unintelligible and squirmed closer to Eight. Eight groaned; this was not fair. 

“Three! Wake up!” she insisted, shaking Three’s head a tad more violently. That seemed to do the trick, as Three grumpily opened one eye.

“Who the fuck is in my…” She trailed off as she took in her position, and realization dawned in her eyes. “I—this—um—” She cleared her throat. “This is always how I sleep. Just so you know.”

“Sure, Three,” Eight said. “You’re really cute when you’re sleeping.”

“You sound like a stalker. Also no I don’t.”

“Yeah you do,” Eight countered, poking her on the nose.

Three blushed and looked away. “Fuck you.”

“Can I get up now?” Eight asked.

“Nah, I’m comfy,” she mumbled, pressing her head back into Eight’s chest. “And you’re soft.”

“I need to go home, Three,” Eight said, struggling not to giggle. “It’s getting kinda late.”

“Time isn’t real.”

“Yes it is. Just because we invented it doesn’t mean it’s fake. Are tables fake?”

“Eight I just woke up like twenty seconds ago, stop with this shit.”

“But, Three, I thought time wasn’t real.”

“Oh my fucking god.” With a tremendously over dramatic groan, Three unwrapped her arms from around Eight and untangled their legs. Then, she rolled off the couch, falling face-first onto the floor and staying there. “Happy now?”

“Yes, thank you,” Eight said, getting to her feet and stepping over Three. “You still need to drive me, by the way. So you need to get up.”

“Uuuuuuuugh. I hate getting up.” Three shambled to her feet like she’d just come back from the dead. “Hold on. I need orange juice. I’m not awake until I’ve had orange juice.”

As Three disappeared into her kitchen, Eight pulled a small notebook out of her jacket, and jotted down ‘getting up’ on her List of Things Three Hates. It was getting pretty sizable at this point. She heard the sound of muted chugging in the background, and put the list away just as Three burst back into the room. 

“Alright. Where the fuck did I put my keys.” She dove into a pile of stuff next to the couch, tossing various items out behind her.

One particular shirt caught Eight’s eye as Three flung it to the side; it was collared, and had the logo of an atom on it. Eight read the text under the icon. “P. R. Hana Science Museum?”

Three whipped around. “What? Oh. Yeah, that’s, um, the Inkopolis science museum.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a place people go to see exhibits of the latest technologies and stuff. It’s half educational, and half trying to impress people with obscure science stuff.”

“Do you go there often?”

“I work there, actually,” Three said, rubbing the back of her head. “Part time.”

“At a science museum? Does that mean you’re a scientist?”

Three cringed. “Er… no. I give tours.”

Eight looked at her blankly. No matter how hard she tried, she could not imagine Three giving a pleasant tour of anything. She barely normal-smiled; how would she fake-smile?

“Let’s just say I tend to switch day jobs often. I’m lucky I get some extra pay from my agent work. Without that, well… I dunno.”

Eight turned the uniform over in her hands, coming across a name tag. She squinted. “Who’s Amy?”

Three froze, staring at the name tag with the most fear Eight thought she’d ever seen on her face.

Eight frowned. “Three? Are you okay?”

Three sprung forward, grabbed the shirt, and threw it across the room. “You need to get home, right? Let’s go.”

“Wait—what about your keys?”

“I know how to hotwire a car.”

“But aren’t they right there?” Eight asked, pointing at a set of keys sitting on a small table, next to the clock.

The two of them exchanged a look, then darted forward, scrambling over furniture and nearly tripping on stray clothing. 

“Ha!” Eight exclaimed, snatching the keys just as Three reached out her own arm. “Got em!”

“C’mon, Eight,” Three intoned. “This doesn’t have to be harder than it needs to be.” 

“Who’s Amy?”

“Give me the keys!” Three screeched, leaping forwards.

Eight yelped as Three’s flashed towards her, almost as if in slow motion. She was so fast; she always had been. And her eyes were… fiery. Not like the kind eyes she’d been seeing these past few weeks, and not like the vacant eyes she’d seen during her escape from the metro, on the elevator platform. No; these eyes called back to the first time Eight had met Three. When she’d just been another Octarian soldier in Three’s way. Eight’s memories of that fight were still hazy, but there was something lingering, something resting, in the back of her mind, and it told her that she should be _afraid._

Reflexively, Eight dropped down and rolled to the side, grasping at her waist for the octoshot that wasn’t there. Three stopped, turned, met her eyes, and paused. “…Eight? You okay?”

“Yeah,” Eight said, after a beat. “You just startled me a bit. Let’s go.”

Three nodded. “Right. Okay. Sorry.”

* * *

“You know I would never hurt you, right?” Three asked, hands on the steering wheel. They were the first words of the drive home, ten minutes in. “I want—I need you to know that.”

“I know,” Eight said. “It’s not your fault. Nothing’s your fault. I just need to be stronger.”

Three’s expression grew hard. “No, that’s not how that works. Don’t put this on yourself. You went through hell.”

“But it’s over now,” Eight said. She wrapped her arms around herself. “So why can’t I be over it?”

Three drove in deep thought for a few blocks. “I don’t care how strong someone is. You don’t just get over something like… that.”

“But look at you! You’ve fought in how many battles now, and you just walk away like—”

“No I don’t!” Three said, her voice shaking ever so slightly. “I’m not over it at all, Eight! I can’t even hear my own damn _name_ without feeling sick.” Eight looked over at her, eyes wide. Three stared at the road ahead, teeth hard together. “I… The reason I’m so private with all of you is because I keep Three and Amy as separate as possible. If I had to deal with both of those lives at once I think I might break for real. Hearing you say my name was… scary. I want to trust all of you, and I do trust all of you, but I can’t even bring myself to tell you guys my real name without freaking out and attacking you.

“So no. I don’t just walk away. No one does, not from something like that, and if they say they do, they’re fucking lying.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes more before Three pulled up outside of Eight’s house.

“Well, we’re here,” Three muttered. “Sorry this was such a disaster.”

Eight smiled, turning to face her. “Don’t be. I enjoyed it.”

“You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not lying, Three.” Eight kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you later.”

* * *

As soon as she closed the front door behind her, Eight let out a humongous breath, eyes wide. Pearl, who had come out to welcome her home, shot her a look. “What’s going on? You look like you were chased here by a shark.”

“Why is dating so stressful?” Eight asked, dragging herself over to her favorite sofa and letting herself fall down onto it.

“Rough date?”

“I… think it was good,” Eight said. “It was just a lot.”

Pearl nodded. “I gotcha. Yeah. Get used to that.”

Eight groaned.

* * *

As Eight shut her front door, Three let out a long breath. “Why is dating so stressful?” she murmured to herself. 

Three was pretty sure she’d just told Eight more about herself in one day than she’d told literally anybody else in the past two years added together. Was she going too fast? Was she handling this right? God, she it was so much easier when she dated jerks. They made her look like the fucking perfect girlfriend.

She needed to talk to someone who’d get it. Driving around the block so that Eight didn’t think she was just loitering in her driveway, Three pulled out her phone and typed in a number.

_“Three?”_ asked Marie’s voice after a few rings.

“Hey, Marie. Are you doing alright?”

_“Well, I just finished signing about two hundred autographs, so my soul feels like a raisin and I want to eat rocks, but other than that, yeah. Need something?”_

“Just… to talk, I guess.”

_“I see. Eight?”_

“Yep,” Three sighed. “I dunno, I just feel like… So I kind of unloaded some shit onto her five minutes ago? I mean, it was to make her feel better, but like. It made me realize how much shit I’ve got to deal with. I was pretty fucked up even _before_ Cap’n and I went to investigate that utter nightmare that is Kamabo. And if she’s gonna be my girlfriend, then she’s gonna have to deal with all of my shit too. I don’t want to put that on her right now, you know? She’s still adjusting.”

_“Eight’s stronger than you think,”_ Marie said, simply.

“I know! I’m not trying to say she’s not. It’s just… I’m worried I’m not the best thing for her right now.”

Marie let out a harsh laugh. _“Bitch, you don’t think Eight’s got shit of her own that you’re gonna have to deal with too? She spent months in a hellish research facility with a broken memory, zombie Octolings, and a deranged robot that wanted to melt her down for her DNA. You’re both a little fucked up right now.”_

“Hey, I was also stuck in Kamabo during—”

_“Oh, don’t give me that,”_ Marie said, and Three could _hear_ her rolling her eyes. _“This isn’t a fucking trauma competition. Look. I think your relationship is exactly what Eight needs right now. And call me crazy, but I think it’s exactly what you need, too. So stop bitching and make it happen. Got it?”_

Three opened her mouth to deliver some sarcastic retort, but she came up empty. “Yeah. Got it.”

_“Dope,”_ Marie said, before abruptly hanging up. 

Three reclined in her seat and let out a low breath. “Stop bitching and make it happen,” she repeated to herself. “Marie, out here dropping the life mottos.”

With a groan, she wrenched herself upright, and shifted the car into drive. She needed to go turfing for a little while to clear her head; she’d sort through all this shit later.

* * *

Eight had managed to retreat to her room before Marina could notice her, thankfully. She knew Marina was going to ask a ton of questions about how everything went, and she was so totally not up for that right now. She was much more content to lie on her bed and pretend she was asleep.

She was worried about Three. She kind of wanted to talk to someone about it, but who? Pearl and Marina didn’t know Three very well. And though Three and Four seemed to be getting along, they had still only known each other for around a month at this point. She pulled up her contacts, hummed, and selected a number.

_“Hello, Callie Cuttlefish!”_

“Hello? It’s Eight.”

_“Hi, Eight!”_ came Callie’s chipper voice. _“What’s up?”_

“Oh, um. Well, I was just wondering some stuff. About Three.”

Callie laughed. _“Aren’t we all?”_

“Right, well. You’ve known Three for a really long time, right? Longer than anybody else.”

_“Well, I doubt longer than anybody else at all period,”_ Callie said. _“But yeah, I’ve known her for a couple years now. Why?”_

“Is she… okay?” Eight asked.

Callie was quiet for a while. _“I’m not sure I entirely understand what you’re asking.”_

“I mean, is she doing okay?”

_“Like in general?”_

“Yeah.”

_“Honestly, I’ve been wondering the same thing for a while now.”_

“What do you mean?”

_“Well, she hasn’t exactly told any of us much. I mean, heck, none of us even know her name!”_ Callie let out a short laugh. Eight cringed slightly, but kept silent. _“But I mean, if you think about it—Marie and I were trained by our granddad, who was widely recognized as one of the best captains in the entire army during the Great Turf War. Four is basically a prodigy; you may not know her very well, but natural talent and hard work got her into the eyes of some very influential people, and she’s one of the youngest pro battlers around. And from what I’ve gathered, you were one of the Octarian’s best soldiers, so good you managed to get the hell out of there, and then get the hell out of Kamabo. And then there’s Three, who’s better than any one of us. I mean, don’t tell her I said that or anything, but we all know it’s true. And one of the only things she’s ever told me about herself is that she never had formal combat training. She taught herself to fight by playing turf wars a lot. That’s it. And she’s no prodigy like Four, as far as I’m aware—I mean, don’t get me wrong, she’s got a lot of talent, but I once saw her go turfing for eighteen hours straight and treat it like it was nothing. She just puts in the time. I’d bet money that she’s battled for over twenty four hours without sleeping in the past, multiple times. And she’s not even interested in going pro or anything like that. So why does she do it to the point that she can one-on-one DJ freaking Octavio?”_

“Maybe because she enjoys the thrill of it?” Eight offered.

_“Maybe,”_ Callie said. _“But I think she uses it as a distraction, Eight. Whenever Three’s stressed, she turfs. Whenever she’s angry, she turfs. Whenever she doesn’t want to deal with whatever’s going on in that head of hers, she turfs. She throws the same kind of weirdly detached determination into her agent work; it’s what makes her so good. But I’ve always wondered why she’s like that. And then I realized: if you’re fourteen, and you want to get away from your home, or your parents, or school, or whatever, what’s the one thing you can always do, even as a kid? You can battle._

_“She was sixteen when she joined the New Squidbeak Splatoon, and she agreed to be an agent without a second thought. She was out in Octo Valley for days at a time, and never once did she ever need to call home. And I’ve never heard her mention her family, even in passing. Again, though, she’s never told me anything herself, so all of this is just speculation. But if I had to guess, I’d say that Three’s life has been a lot more difficult than she lets on.”_

“Oh,” said Eight. “I never thought about any of that.”

_“Yeah, well. I’ve known her for two years now. After all that time, you start to wonder why you still don’t know her at all.”_

“So… what do I do? I don’t really have much experience to go off of, but I really care about her. I want to help.”

_“Just be there for her,”_ Callie said. _“You’re a good person, Eight, and trust me when I say Three really cares about you, too. She’ll be there for you in turn. You two are gonna be alright.”_

Eight nodded to herself. “Thanks, Callie.”

_“Anytime. I’ll see you later!”_

“See you!”

* * *

As Callie hung up the phone, she turned to Marie, who still had her own cell phone in her hand.

“These kids, Marie,” Callie lamented. “Were we this bad back when we were eighteen?”

“You still are.”

“Oh, shut it,” Callie chastised, hitting her cousin in the shoulder. “Don’t act like you haven’t been ogling Four ever since that mission.”

“Callie, stop. We’re just friends.”

Callie rolled her eyes. “Agent 4 Factopedia, Marie. ‘Nuff said.”

Callie got up and strolled into the kitchen, going to the cabinet to get herself a glass of water. Her voice was still hoarse from that surprise autographing fiasco—they were lucky they’d been able to get back to their house safely without anybody following them. Fans could be… a bit much, sometimes. As she listened to the water pour into the cup, she groaned. This was so frustrating! She just wanted those two dorks to figure all their shit out and be happy. Didn’t Three have a day job? Maybe she could set something up. Well, she’d have to know what it was first, and there was no chance in hell Three would tell her. Maybe Marie knew? She was pretty sure Marie had Three’s phone tapped, so it was a definite possibility.

Marie appeared in the doorway, giving Callie a wary look. “I can see you plotting.”

“I’m not plotting!” Callie denied, taking a quick sip of her water.

“You’ve got you’re plotting face on.”

“Marie, I don’t have a plotting face.”

Marie raised an eyebrow. Callie met her eye, and crossed her arms. She didn’t have a plotting face, and she wasn’t budging on that. 

Marie’s eyebrow climbed higher, and Callie’s resolve shook.

“Okay, fine, I’m plotting! They’re just so cute, Marie! So cute, but so awkward.”

“Well, stop it,” Marie said firmly. “Four delegated us to relationship advice only after that restaurant fiasco. No more in-person missions.”

“And who gave _Four_ the authority to delegate? I’m, like, three agent numbers above her!”

“Hmm, I dunno, maybe it’s because she actually got them to start dating, and we gave Eight a panic attack.”

Callie sighed. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

“Don’t worry, though,” Marie said, turning around to walk towards her room. “We’re the New Squidbeak Splatoon; there’s no mission we can’t complete. Operation 24 is no different.”

Callie smirked. “Right. With us on the case, this relationship is bound to be successful!”

* * *

On the road back to her apartment, Three felt a sudden chill go down her spine. Hmm. Strange. 

She figured it was probably nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, thanks so much for reading! It means a lot.
> 
> I'm gonna take a week off next week, but expect installment Three (haha) to come the following week. See ya then!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks everyone for reading!
> 
> Hey, if you want to ask me any questions about this fic and its extended universe, or just want to look at the cute agent 24 art I reblog, come visit my tumblr! You'll find me at [operation-24.tumblr.com](https://operation-24.tumblr.com).


End file.
